


Weakest Moments

by Munchy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Before Blackwater, Cheating, Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual High Honor John Marston, Eventual Morstongail, F/M, He's got work to do, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Jack being a CUTE BABY, Kinda, Love Triangles, M/M, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Pre-Poly, Relationship Issues, Single Mother Abigail Roberts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munchy/pseuds/Munchy
Summary: "She stares at them for a moment, a pensive expression on her face, but there’s a fire in her eyes that tell Arthur that she’s angry. She takes the money, almost snatching it out of his hands, “Thank you for bringing it. I’m sure whatever Marston was doin’ wasimportant.” Abigail grits out the last word like she lost control for a moment before composing herself and turning back to the cabin, marching up the stairs.Arthur looks on with confusion not sure how to respond. He counted the money himself when John handed it to him — it was more out of habit than distrusting the amount John was gonna give Abigail— and it seemed like more than plenty for both her and little Jack, “I’ll— uh… send him your regards then?”"-------An AU in which Abigail decided to live on her own just before Jack was born, John is still... well John even if he never left for a year, and Arthur being guilty about the whole thing while trying to not let past memories and mistakes repeat all over again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so... new story! I came up with this AU on the fly and like... it kinda got really out of hand... Anyway, expect some Arthur/Abigail for the first bit before we head into the polyam chaos! I promise tho, we'll get there.
> 
> Also, if you're interested, I created a fandom discord server for the Red Dead series. If you're interested, feel free to join! => https://discord.gg/SgxYecU
> 
> Title and Lyrics from _Crosses_ , by José González

_ Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you  _

_ Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you  _

_ Returning nightmares only shadows _

_ We'll cast some light and you'll be alright _

_ We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now _

 

* * *

  
  
  


Arthur curses as his foot gets caught in a hole, nearly tripping him over into the dry grass that surrounded the cabin. 

 

“Shit,” he looks down at his still caught foot and carefully extracts it out of the hole, grumbling. 

 

“Mr. Morgan?” Arthur looks up and spots a woman on the porch of the cabin. With black hair tied in a loose bun and a wet stain on her apron, the woman looks far older than Arthur remembers, perhaps from the hard work of raising a baby on her own. 

 

“Ms. Roberts…” Arthur coughs and tips his hat at Abigail, “Long time no see.”

 

She gives him that ever crooked smile, the kind that tells him that she’s about to tease, “It’s only been about a year, Mr. Morgan. Silly man.” she replies as though a whole year somehow ain’t a long time. She steps down from the porch, wiping her hands in her apron, “You alright?” she asks, gesturing towards his foot. 

 

“ ‘m fine, just stumbled a little.”

 

Abigail frowns as she glares at the ground, “Damn prairie dogs! They've been sneakin’ into my garden all month. I’ve flooded the tunnels, but they keep comin’ back, damn pests.”

 

Arthur chuckles, which comes out more like a huff of air than a laugh, and says, “S’all good, Ms. Roberts. I ain’t hurt none.” he shrugs a little.

 

“If ya sure,” she eyes him skeptically, like Susan would, before asking, “So, what brings you out here?”

 

Arthur gives a friendly smile before digging through his saddle bag, “John sent me,” he grunts, “Said he was busy with a job.” he pulls out a wad of bills and holds them out to Abigail. 

 

She stares at them for a moment, a pensive expression on her face, but there’s a fire in her eyes that tell Arthur that she’s angry. She takes the money, almost snatching it out of his hands, “Thank you for bringing it. I’m sure whatever Marston was doin’ was _ important _ .” Abigail grits out the last word like she lost control for a moment before composing herself and turning back to the cabin, marching up the stairs. 

 

Arthur looks on with confusion not sure how to respond. He counted the money himself when John handed it to him — it was more out of habit than distrusting the amount John was gonna give Abigail— and it seemed like more than plenty for both her and little Jack, “I’ll— uh… send him your regards then?”

 

Abigail pauses as she opens the door and looks back at him, a seething look on her face, but it’s thankfully not directed at him so much as the obviously absent person on his oh so important job. Still, Abigail’s glare could cut into a mountain, it’s so potent, “Yeah, you tell ‘em that!” 

 

She then slams the door, leaving Arthur confused and a little bad-tempered. 

 

* * *

 

 

He finds John the moment he gets back to camp a day later, sitting with Bill and Javier and drinking of all things. Arthur quickly goes to the man and stands over him.

 

“Arthur! Welcome back! Have a drink with us.” Javier says joyfully.

 

“Yeah, Morgan. Marston and I hit the jackpot!” Bill adds, “Found ourselves a wealthy couple, ripe for the pluckin’!” he laughs loudly, already tipsy, “Dutch nearly toppled over when we brought him that sack of valuables!”

 

Arthur looks at John, who sports a smug grin on his face, “Speakin’ of Jacks,” he watches John’s smirk falter completely into a hard frown, “You wanna tell me why Abigail got right pissed when I handed her the money you were supposed to deliver to her?”

 

John glares at him, almost as mean as Abigail's, but Arthur ain’t as scared of the greasy bastard as much as the said greasy bastard’s woman. Not to mention he’s had a lot of experience dealing with John’s temper. He glares right back, and the air around them grows tense like an oncoming storm.

 

There’s a pause between the members of the little group before Javier immediately gets up from his seat, “I think I left my bag on Boaz’s saddle,” he says, quickly tugging on Bill’s shirt as the man drinks.

 

“Stop that,” Bill swats Javier away, “Just go get it, what you need me for?” Javier frowns, which prompts Bill to look Arthur and John’s way. It takes a second before Bill’s eyes widen. He says, “I-I think… maybe I should help with that. Seemed like it was stuck on somethin’ maybe?” and gets up from his chair. Bill may be the dumbest man this side of the Mississippi, but Arthur had to at least credit him with being smart enough to know when a fight was about to break out. They both leave in a hurry, leaving Arthur and John to their little standoff. 

 

After a moment of tense silence where Arthur wonders what excuses he’s gonna hear from John this time. John breaks it by saying, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. That woman gets mad at everything,” and takes a swig from his drink.

 

Arthur scoffs, “Well, she was mad at someone, John, and it wasn’t me.”

 

John rolls his eyes, “Coulda been. Seein’ as how you ain’t exactly a people person.”

 

Arthur growls, resisting the urge to slam his fist onto the table, “Get your head outta your ass John,” he grabs John’s bottle and slides it across the table, out of reach, “She’s pissed at you about something. Go talk to her!” 

 

John scoffs before standing, “Don’t tell me what to do, Arthur,” he then points a finger at the other, jabbing it into his chest, “And stay the hell outta my business!”

 

Staring at John’s finger before snapping his gaze back up, Arthur gives him an incredulous look, “You were the one that sent me, you fucking idiot!” he smacks the other’s arm away, “If you didn’t want me involved, you woulda gone yourself! What the hell is goin’ on?”

 

“I said it ain’t none of your business, Arthur. I asked for a favor, nothin’ more. Just leave it!” John shouts, getting heads to turn their way. He then stomps off towards the horses, no doubt taking a ride to cool off. Arthur seethes at his retreating back, hoping that his glare could make the bastard drop dead. 

 

“The hell is goin’ on?” he asks again but to no one in particular this time. 

 

“Probably got into another fight with Abigail recently,” Javier suddenly appears beside him. Arthur starts before whipping his head to the side. Javier glances at him, “Probably why he sent you instead.”

  
  


Arthur huffs and shakes his head, already foul mood growing worse, “Pretty sure Marston hasn’t been out that way in some time.” Now that he thinks about it, it’s been a good couple of months, despite the fact that camp was only a day ride out towards Abigail’s cabin this time around.

 

Javier shrugs, taking a swig of his beer, “Could be that’s the reason she’s pissed.”

 

Arthur nods instead of saying anything because he could believe that. Abigail isn’t exactly the patient type, and John’s pretty good at trying everyone’s patience. Arthur could just chalk it up to John letting problems pile up until they all came crashing down around him in one big mess. 

 

People were used to that, though. And John said it wasn’t his business. And he’s right for once, it isn’t Arthur’s business, but something just ain’t right. Arthur can feel it in his bones, like a bad wind. 

 

Maybe he should talk to Hosea. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hosea sighs when Arthur tells him what happened later that night. 

 

“Of course he did…” he rubs his face. Hosea always was a spry man even into his later years, but in moments like these, Arthur can see how tired and aged he really is. 

 

“He do this often?” Arthur asks.

 

Hosea looks up, face as incredulous as the look he gave John earlier, “You haven’t noticed?”

 

Arthur shrugs, a little sheepish, “I’ve been sent out and about by Dutch lately for his latest scheme. Haven’t really spent much time knowing what’s going on around camp.” As though he has any interest in the camp’s social structure and gossip to begin with. He does, but he won’t admit to being very behind on a lot of it.

 

“It’s been goin’ on a little while longer than just a couple of months, Arthur,” Hosea says, giving the younger man a look of disbelief. It makes Arthur feel ashamed of all things. Like a child caught with his hands in the fruit preserves. Hosea sighs again through his nose, “The whole thing between John and Abigail is… difficult. I’d actually agree with John on this one. Don’t get involved. This is something they have to work out on their own.”

 

Arthur frowns. Normally, he would just let things be, but the whole situation around Abigail and John was something even he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried. It was no secret what Abigail used to do as a profession —he wasn’t even sure if she stopped now that he thinks about it—, and it was partially the reason she even joined the gang in the first place. She just happened to take to John rather quickly, and from what he understood, John liked Abigail a whole lot — at least enough to keep inviting her out—. When Abigail fell pregnant and named John the father, whatever relationship they had crumbled rather quickly. 

 

Arthur remembers the screaming matches happening on a regular basis. Right before Abigail gave birth to little Jack, however, she announced that she was going to leave camp. Said something about not wanting to burden the group. Tilly told him it was because John and her had a major falling out, even though he never asked. Though he did want to know why but would never admit to it. Perhaps because it brought back painful memories.

 

The move happened so quickly, Arthur didn’t really get the chance to even talk to John or Abigail about it, ready to go out of his way and warn them. He had let it go then, simply because he was made aware that John was still providing for Abigail and their child, even though he kept denying that little Jack wasn’t his, to begin with.

 

And while that fact is still true, something still sits uneasily in him when he thinks of the rage in Abigail’s face. Like there was something else there under the surface that he can’t quite decipher. It worries him for some reason he can’t understand yet.

 

As if reading his mind, or because he’s just that good at knowing what Arthur’s thinking with one glance, Hosea’s eyes grow soft, “Abby’s fine. John’s fine. They’re just… stubborn. One of them’s gonna realize that they gotta step back at some point and things’ll go back to normal.” Hosea smiles and places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, trying to reassure him, but Arthur wasn’t buying it. 

 

“I don’t think you believe that for a second,” Arthur says. He knows how “ _ stubborn _ ” both of them can be. John, he knew for over a decade, and even though he knew Abigail far less, it didn’t take long to figure out how solid her convictions were when she set her mind to it. “ _ Stubborn _ ” was a damn understatement. 

 

Hosea’s face falls and he sighs once again, “I got no choice. I have to.”

 

Arthur looks at the man with more worry, but jokes, “I don’t think that’s healthy.”

 

Hosea laughs. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds himself back at Abigail’s cabin not a week later, tapping on her door. As he does so, he tries to form an excuse for why he’s even back, as he’s sure that she’d be the type of person that wouldn’t like pity. Truthfully, he just wants to know what’s going on between them, as past experiences have taught him that fighting like this won’t end well. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, Adding another chapter to a story in the same day I update another fic? It's more likely than you think ;)
> 
> I decided to add this chapter in because I'm actually ahead for once. Also as a general heads up, there's gonna be A LOT of Morgail slow-burn/domestic fluff in the next few chapters, so yeah... stick around for that. Also cute baby Jack because of course! <3
> 
> Once again, I'd like to thank my beta @Rabiesdealer!

Arthur finds himself back at Abigail’s cabin not a week later, tapping on her door. As he does so, he tries to form an excuse for why he’s even back, as he’s sure that she’d be the type of person that wouldn’t like pity. Truthfully, he just wants to know what’s going on between them, as past experiences have taught him that fighting like this won’t end well. Ever.

 

By the time a few minutes go by, Arthur forms a decent excuse or at least one he thinks is decent enough before realizing that he’s still standing by her door and no one’s come to greet him yet. At first, he’s a bit confused, brow raised as he tries to get a glance through the window. The inside of the cabin is too dark to make out anything, but clearly, no one’s inside. 

 

A spike of panic hits him hard as he makes his way down the steps of Abigail's porch to check around back. Hit with a sudden sense of what Strauss would call  _ Deja Vu _ . It’s irrational, what happened back then has nothing to do with Abigail and Jack going missing, Arthur knows this. Still, it doesn’t stop him from breaking out into a dead sprint towards the back, heart racing with fear that his rational mind can’t clear. A fear of seeing wooden crosses the moment he turns the corner. 

 

When he does, there’s nothing there. 

 

Just a small garden with a prairie dog waddling out of it, a tiny beet in its tiny mouth.  

 

“Hands up!”

 

Arthur turns and faces the barrel of a pistol. Abigail right behind it with a fierce look that could tan a hide. Little Jack’s even in a sling fast asleep, supported by one of his mother’s arms. And the sight of them makes Arthur relax of all things. 

 

The gun is quickly lowered as recognition flashes behind blue eyes, “ _ Arthur? _ Jesus Christ,” All the tension leaves Abigail in an instant and her shoulders slump, “Saw you down the path and thought you was a robber,” she sounds as relieved as Arthur feels. 

 

But because Arthur prides himself in being antisocial, and thus having little to no communication skills, the first thing out of his mouth is, “Why you bring Jack with ya to threaten a robber?”

 

Abigail’s brows scrunch together in that charming way it does when she thinks someone’s being stupid. Arthur would think it’d be funny if it wasn’t directed at him. 

 

“What? Did ya expect me to just leave him with the groceries? I’m sure tomatoes make excellent company,” she chuckles. 

 

Arthur lets out a huff and shakes his head, a little embarrassed, but glad nonetheless, “Sorry, got worried when you didn’t answer the door,” she gives him another puzzled look, but Arthur ignores it. Abigail wasn’t around in the gang long enough to know about Arthur’s past, and he’d prefer not to reopen those wounds after the scare he just had. “But uhh— You say you got groceries? Need any help carryin’ them in?”

 

Abigail snorts, “Town’s two miles away. I’m sure I can handle carryin’ them in the house,” she turns, holstering the pistol —which Arthur suddenly realizes that both the holster and pistol once belonged to John— and walks towards the front to no doubt go inside.

 

As Arthur follows her, he can quite shake the uneasy feeling of that new bit of information. He asks, “I know you got a gun and all, but you sure it’s safe to be this far outta town?” 

 

Abigail looks back as she unlocks the door and says, “Land was cheap here, and I could always sell parts of it to the local sawmill if I need to, seeing as how it’s still pretty wooded,” she opens the door and steps inside, “Come on in. I’ll cook you dinner since you’re here.”

 

Arthur sighs, not liking the answer all that much, but follows her, taking his hat off as he does to be polite.

 

The cabin is small as to be expected, but it’s filled with things that make it a welcoming home. The kitchen has some storage space, along with a wood burning stove and a small table. A settee is pushed into the corner, and next to it is a set of stairs that no doubt lead up to Jack and Abigail’s shared bedroom. There are rugs and curtains and little knick-knacks that make the place lived in. It’s comforting and warm. A place Arthur wouldn’t mind living in if he ever planned to settle down, which he wasn’t.

 

Abigail’s already in the kitchen, setting the groceries from the basket she had onto the table, along with a cutting board and knife. Little Jack’s still tucked in the sling, still sleeping like his mama didn’t just put a gun to a man’s head. 

 

Arthur walks up to her, a sense of familiarity in the way he moves through the cabin, “Here, I’ll watch him while you cook,” he offers with his hands out.

  
  


“You sure?”, Abigail asks, “You know how to hold a baby?” 

 

“Course,” Arthur replies. Abigail raises a brow at him, but smiles and starts untying the sling. Once Arthur has a hold of Jack, she goes back to the stove and lights a fire. 

 

Jack’s little face scrunches up from the sudden move, yet manages to go back to sleep to the sound of Arthur’s soft cooes and hushes. It makes his chest feel tight with too many emotions to name. Like he got hit with a sudden rush of water the way the nostalgia takes over. Abigail hums a song as she starts chopping vegetables, and while it’s not the same song, Arthur can’t help but think of Eliza. 

 

When the sun outside begins to set, Abigail sets a plate in front of him. It looks like a small pie, slightly burnt but not to the point of being inedible. She looks oddly proud.

 

“I tried out a new recipe the cook at the saloon gave me. Give it a try.” Her smile grows as she takes her own seat. 

 

Arthur, while rocking Jack gently in one arm, grabs the fork and breaks the crust to find a liquidy brown sauce in the center with some vegetables mixed in. It smells a little funny, like onions boiled in broth and some kind of thick gravy. He takes a quick bite and has to control the urge to spit it out immediately. It’s not... great. 

 

He looks up to find Abigail watching him, and something in those blue eyes of her makes him nervous.

 

“So? How is it?” She asks, her tone obviously excited.

 

Arthur licks his lips and looks back at the pie, “It’s good,” he manages.  

 

He looks up to see her frowning, “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

 

“Now, I wouldn’t say that—”

 

Abigail chuckles, “Silly man, you look like you’re bein’ tortured,” she sighs, “I tried rememberin’ everything Mr. Landon told me, but I just ain’t that good yet. Only been at this for a little over a year.”

 

She reaches over to grab his plate, but Arthur moves it away and takes another bite, “No, I’ll finish it.” 

 

Abigail gives him an incredulous look, “Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur.”

 

Arthur drags the bowl over and starts eating the rest of the pie, “Ain’t gonna waste food.”

 

He watches her scoff then shake her head with a laugh, “Silly man.”

 

* * *

 

 

After they’ve eaten, Abigail feeds Jack. Arthur offers to wash the dishes which aren’t that many to begin with, but he wants to be helpful in some way. 

 

As he brushes away the oil coated cast iron that was used to fry the meat, Abigail asks him, “So, what brings you here anyway?”

 

The excuses that Arthur had lined up before are all gone and he can’t remember a damn one of them, “I uhh… Well—” he flounders for the words as he starts to dry the dishes to keep from fidgeting. He glances back to catch Abigail giving him an amused look, “It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Figure we could catch up a bit,” he says suddenly. It’s closer to the truth anyway, and he  _ is _ curious.

 

Abigail hums, “Well, there hasn’t really been that much goin’ on. I work at a doctor’s office now.”

 

Arthur turns, surprise clear on his face, “ _ Really? _ ”

 

“I started about a year ago just cleanin’ the surgery table, but I guess Dr. Stevens liked my work ethic enough to let me do more. Right now he calls me his  _ ‘assistant nurse’ _ when really I’m just his gopher.” Abigail explains. Her face has a slight blush to it. 

 

“Still, that’s great! It’s more than what most people in camp can say they’ve done,” he places the plates back where he assumes they’d belong, “You should be proud of that. Being able to live a normal life.”

 

“Well…uh, thank you, I guess,” Abigail says, sounding flustered, “It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m sure John told y'all already.”

 

Arthur pauses, feeling like a stone dropped in his belly. He awkwardly fidgets with the washcloth, avoiding her gaze. John… doesn’t talk much of Abigail since she left. Arthur’s pretty sure the only reason they even know she’s alive is because John travels out to give her money every once in a while.

 

When he looks up, he finds Abigail looking sad but resigned. It makes him feel guilty for not checking up on her sooner. 

 

“I’m… sorry,” he says because he doesn’t really know what else to say. Strangely, he feels like he’s had this conversation before, and the guilt only intensifies. 

 

“It ain’t your fault, Arthur,” Abigail says as she rights herself. Jack’s done feeding and is now in the process of being burped, “It ain’t like any of you had an obligation to come visit anyway, and I didn’t expect it with the way ya’ll live.”

 

There’s a small gurgle sound that signals that Jack’s all good now before Abigail starts moving towards the stairs. Arthur watches her for a minute feeling tense and nostalgic all at once. Reliving painful, old memories. It makes him feel uneasy and almost helpless.

 

Arthur mutters a curse before going to his satchel, which he left on one of the kitchen chairs, and digs through it. Quickly, he finds and pulls out his journal and pencil and begins writing on a page in the back. It’s just basic information, stuff Abigail would have already known, but that’s assuming John even told her. He leaves down the names and aliases of some of the people in camp, including his own few. He also leaves a short message telling her that if she needed anything, to write letters to these people. 

 

Arthur knows it’s risky, but he knows Abigail is a smart woman, tenacious to boot. If authorities ever come because of her relations to the gang, he knows she’d keep this hidden well beyond their reach. 

 

He rips out the page and places it down on the table before gathering his things and heading into the tiny living area. Abigail comes down the stairs then, Jack having been put to bed.

 

“You headed out?” she asks, a tired but pleasant smile graces her face. 

 

“Yeah, need to get back to camp,” he places his hat back on, “If you need anything, Abigail, don’t hesitate to ask. I know we didn’t really get to know you all that much the year you were with us, but you’re still family.” Abigail’s smile softens into something kinder, grateful. A reassurance she needed to hear. 

 

Arthur smiles back and heads out the door, “Thanks for dinner, Ms. Roberts,” he says, because  _ “Mrs. Marston” _ still doesn’t quite feel right, especially after everything, “Have a pleasant evening.”

 

He starts walking to his horse, Boadicea, who he left unhitched to let graze a little further out. As he whistles and hears hoofs making their way over, there’s a noise behind him. 

 

“Arthur!” It’s Abigail, coming out the door and down the porch, jogging towards him, “You left your notes!” She hollers. 

 

“What notes?” Arthur says as he turns around and starts walking towards her, genuinely confused until he sees the slip of paper she’s waving in her hand, “That’s not for—”

 

Something catches in his throat as she suddenly trips, letting out a loud yelp. Arthur’s stomach drops,  _ “Abigail!” _

 

Racing over towards her, he can see her raising herself up on her arms, having fallen on her stomach, and he’s relieved when she starts cursing up a storm. 

 

“God damn prairie dog holes! I’ll flood the whole fucking colony!” She’s on all fours by the time he reaches her, “I’ll murder the whole lot of them! Little grave markers for their entire families, you hear me you little demons!?” And with that, he can’t help but laugh at the image. 

 

She snaps her head up at him, murder in her pretty blue eyes, and he starts laughing all over again. When she starts cursing at him, he calms down enough to say, “Sorry. You all right, Abby?” He asks as he offers a hand. 

 

Abigail takes it with a huff, “Yeah, I’m fine, ya bastard.” As Arthur lifts her up she lets out a sudden gasp and nearly topples over again. Arthur grabs her in time trying to steady her, panic suddenly coursing through his veins like a raging river. 

 

“What happened?” He asks, helping her balance, “You okay?” 

 

“I—” she hisses, “I think— I hurt my ankle. Can’t stand on it,” she’s breathing deep, “I need to see Dr. Stevens.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur says, a little winded himself, worry making his voice waver. He calls over his horse, who happened to follow him close behind, “I’m gonna put you on sidesaddle, then I’m grabbin’ Jack,” he watches Abigail nod, “Okay, ready?” She nods again and he carefully moves in front of her and lifts her by her waist. 

 

It takes a few moments, but Abigail gets on Boadicea without too much fuss. He races back to the cabin, careful of holes in the yard, and goes up the stairs to find little Jack is in a crib by Abigail’s bed, sound asleep. Gently, he takes Jack out and goes back outside where Abigail is waiting, face flushed from the pain in her ankle. 

 

“Here,” he says, handing Jack over. Once he’s in Abigail’s arms, Arthur hefts himself up onto the saddle so that she’s in front of him. Boadicea whinnies, annoyed at the added weight, but Arthur pats her neck in apology, “You said the town’s about two miles? What direction?”

 

“Head east once we hit the main road,” Abigail says, voice tight. She cradles Jack close to her chest with one arm, while the other wraps around Arthur as much as she can around Arthur’s back, gripping the fabric of his coat like a lifeline. He can see sweat glistening off her brow. And anxious feeling settles in his chest as he gets Boadicea into a steady canter.

 

By the time they get to the main road, the sun is behind the mountains, casting the land into dark hues of blues and oranges. Arthur hears Jack making a fuss, but Abigail shushes him with a quiet song. It sounds familiar. 

 

“Should be there soon,” Arthur says and heads east.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God Damn it woman! What now?!” Gracie, with a stern glare on her face, points to Abigail. Dr. Stevens glaces in the direction and his eyes go wide before straightening himself out and standing straighter, “Abigail! What in God’s name are you doing here at this time of night? Did somethin’ happen to Jack?” He asks, voice gruff from what Arthur thinks is of years of drinking and smoking. He at least sounds more than a little concerned when addressing Abigail, which eases Arthur just a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair content warning... Baby Jack... that is all.
> 
> Also would like to thank the Red Dead Fandom server for giving me the name of this dumb town! Thanks guys!

****

The town of Redmond is a little thing nestled into the hills by a river. It’s surrounded by forests, making it more keen to take on logging as its main source of income. However, all the saw mills are further down the river, near the railroad system, so most of the workers come here to chop down the trees and send them down, but ultimately stay in Redmond for the convenience along with their families.

It also meant that, while small, it could proudly boast about being big enough to have a deputy office, a general store, a saloon, and most importantly, a doctor’s clinic. Probably was for the best, seeing as how dangerous logging tended to get. Men were more liable to lose a limb being a lumberjack than joining the army. 

Still, that didn’t stop the working folk of Redmond to drink away their woes at the local saloon. It was loud going by, almost enough to wake little Jack in Abigail's arms, but the doctor’s office was close by. 

Once Boadicea stopped, Arthur carefully gets off so as not to jostle Abigail anymore. He quickly starts banging on the door to the doctor’s office, despite the lights being out.

“Hey! We need some help!”

“The doc’s in here!” Arthur and Abigail turn towards the saloon to find a busty looking woman with curly brown hair leaning against the first floor landing, “That you Miss Robert? Dear Lord, what happened?”

“Evenin’ Gracie. Could you fetch that ornery bastard? I think I twisted my ankle.” Abigail greets the woman, voice tired.

Gracie hollers over a sudden roar of festivities happening inside the building, “Certainly, hun!” She then enters the building, stride determined. 

Arthur steps off the stairs to wait by Boadicea. He glances at Abigail, who’s making an unpleasant face towards the saloon. “You alright?” he asks.

Abigail shakes her head, “I’m doin’ fine right now. Dr. Stevens has a tendency to stay up late drinking causin’ him to come to work hungover. Hopefully he’s sober enough to treat my ankle,” she sounds frustrated, like how she’d get with John when the man was being particularly stubborn and dumb. He can relate to that anger. 

Gracie appears a moment later, practically dragging out who Arthur assumes is Dr. Stevens by the ear. He’s an older looking gentleman with short white hair balding at the top, and an equally white beard. He’s cursing up a storm as Gracie all but deposits him by Arthur and Abigail. 

“God Damn it woman! What  _ now?! _ ” Gracie, with a stern glare on her face, points to Abigail. Dr. Stevens glaces in the direction and his eyes go wide before straightening himself out and standing straighter, “ _ Abigail! _ What in God’s name are you doing here at this time of night? Did somethin’ happen to Jack?” He asks, voice gruff from what Arthur thinks is of years of drinking and smoking. He at least sounds more than a little concerned when addressing Abigail, which eases Arthur just a bit.

“Think I twisted my ankle, Doc,” Abigail begins, “Need you to look at it.”

“Those damn prairie dogs again, huh?” Dr. Steven chuckles. He turns to go up the stairs and nearly runs into Arthur. The younger can smell the alcohol emanating off of him already. Absolutely fantastic. Arthur nearly growls in frustration, nerves already frayed as they are.

“Who’s this gruff fellow you got here?” Dr. Steven’s grunts, pointing at the other like Arthur’s some object that can’t hear him.

“This is Arthur… Callahan, my brother-in-law,” Abigail clarifies. Arthur’s surprised that she even remembered one of his aliases, but she ignores his slightly wide-eyed look and continues, “He was visiting when I took my tumble.”

Dr. Stevens gives Abigail a skeptical look, “ _ Right… _ Anyway, let's get you inside.” He finally goes to opens the door. Arthur gently helps Abigail and Jack off of Boadicea. Gracie quickly comes over to help Abigail up the stairs and into the doctor’s office. Arthur hurriedly hitches Boadicea by the saloon before heading into the office himself.

Abigail is on the doctor’s table by then, having her shoe carefully removed by Dr. Stevens. She’s hissing and quietly cursing through it. Gracie walks up to Arthur, with little Jack in her arms and hands the boy off. Arthur thanks her for her help before Gracie leaves to head back to the saloon. Arthur doesn’t miss the curious look she gives him before she closes the door. 

He suspects that rumours about him and his connection to Abigail will be all over town by tomorrow morning at the  _ latest. _

Right now though, Arthur occupies himself with cooing at Jack, who’s wide awake and starting to fuss without his mama. He tries to calm the boy down, gently rocking him back and forth. 

After what feels like hours, Arthur hears Dr. Stevens sigh, “Well, I got some good news and bad news,” he says as he gently lays Abigail’s right foot onto the table.

“What’s the good news?” She grunts.

“You’re foot ain’t sprained,” he says.

“Well, I guess that’s good,” Abigail sounds relieved, but Arthur has a sinking feeling that’s not going to last. 

“It’s broken,” The Doc finishes. Abigail makes a scowl at the man, and he laughs of all things, “Now don’t be makin’ that face at me. Told you to fill in those holes, Ms. Roberts.”

Abigail sits up, looking about ready to throw a fist, “I’ll be pissed if I want to Doc. I can’t do nothin’ on this foot now, and I’m supposed to be here tomorrow to work.” She growls. 

Dr. Stevens taps her ankle which causes Abigail to hiss, “Now quiet ‘bout that. You need to recover or the ankle’s just gonna heal wrong, and then what’ll you do when you gotta use a cane for the rest of your life, hm?” He tilts his head at Abigail, much like a father would when scolding their child, “Naw, you just rest up Ms. Roberts. We’ll consider it a paid vacation, got it?”

Abigail looks like she wants to protest, but Dr. Stevens just taps the ankle again, forcing her to give up, “ _ Fine! _ Alright! I’ll rest up, you ornery bastard.”

Dr. Steven’s chuckles, “Now you sit here with your…  _ brother-in-law _ while I go fetch a splint and some bandages.” He leaves the room.

Arthur goes up to Abigail, still rocking Jack, “You look tired,” And he means it. She looks equal parts stressed and exhausted with her hair frayed from the ride over, to the way she holds her shoulders. He can empathize with her. An injury can set people back months. 

Abigail glances at him, and he suddenly notices the bags under her eyes, “I’m just… This ain’t what I needed right now. I know the Doc said he’d still pay me, but there’s a lot of other things I need to worry about. Like Jack,” She reaches over and brushes a wisp of dark hair out of the boy’s face, “Can’t exactly watch over him while I recover.”

Arthur looks down to see Jack looking at him with wide, brown eyes, ignoring the way his mama plays with his hair. Arthur can definitely see some of John in those peepers. He wonders if Jack will make the same faces as John did when he was twelve and making trouble. He then wonders if John will accept Jack as his own by then. The thought sours his mood. Arthur knew John had his reservations about being a father but how can John just leave Abigail to fend for herself like this? It ain’t right. It’s down right cowardly.

He looks up, already having made his decision, “I’ll help ya out with Jack ‘til you get back on your feet again.”

Abigail’s gaze snaps up to his, eyes wide and full of surprises, “I—…” Her brows then sets into something incredulous, “Now I can’t let you do that, Arthur. You got other things to worry about than me and Jack here.”

“I said you were family, right? That doesn’t stop the moment I leave your home. You need help, I’m offerin’,” he says, voice serious. Abigail looks about ready to protest when Dr. Stevens enters the room, “I’ll send a letter to Dutch in the morning and tell him what’s goin’ on,” Arthur says then, leaving no room for argument. Abigail’s face sets into another scowl as Arthur gives the Doc some room to work. 

By the time he’s finished wrapping the last bit around the upper calf, Dr. Stevens straightens up, “Alright, that should do. You’ll have to stay off it for about six to seven weeks,” at that, Abigail looks up in alarm before glancing at Arthur. He keeps his face perfectly neutral. Dr. Steven’s continues, ignoring the exchange, “I have an extra cane lyin’ around somewhere you can use,” he walks over to his set of cabinets, which look a lot bigger than the usual ones Arthur’s seen in small towns. He figures it has something to do with the town’s main export, “I’ll also give you a bottle of laudanum for the pain,” he hands said bottle over to Abigail, “Add about twenty or so drops to your daily tea.” 

Abigail nods her head with a tired sigh, “Thanks Doc.”

“Anytime Ms. Roberts,” he goes to check his pocket watch, “It’s already a bit late to be riding out, even with Mr. Callahan with you. How ‘bout you stay upstairs in the spare room I got?” he offers.

“I don’t think—” Abigail begins.

“That’ll be great Dr. Stevens. Thank you,” Arthur interrupts, ignoring Abigail’s menacing glare. 

Dr. Stevens does much the same, eyes lighting up at Arthur’s insistence. It makes him wonder how often the Doc has to pull teeth just to give Abigail any kind of assistance, “Good! I’ll go brew up some tea in the back room so it’ll help you sleep.” He takes the laudanum from Abigail’s hands and heads towards the backroom again. 

When Arthur looks back, Abigail looks as though she could start a fire with her glower alone, “You and Jack need the rest.” Arthur says.

At the mention of Jack, Abigail deflates, heaving a large breath, “Fine.” 

Arthur grins, knowing he’s won for now.

* * *

Early the next morning, Arthur awoke to the wiggling of little hands and feet over his chest and face. He opens one eye and stares at little Jack, wide awake and pulling on his beard with a big, gummy smile on his face. He huffs a short laugh which gets Jack to pause, face going slack as he now stares back at Arthur with big brown eyes.

“Havin’ fun there?” He asks rhetorically. The low, sleep induced grumble of his voice causes Jack to giggle.

He slowly sits up from the extra cot that the Doc set up the night before, and looks over at Abigail on the bed next to him, sleeping deeply. He glances out the window to see the deep blue and purple of the night sky, signaling that dawn is just on the other side of the mountain range. Little Jack wiggles, restless in his arms and babbling like babies tend to do. 

“I guess it’s just you and me for a little while, huh?” Arthur whispers and he gets up from the cot and holds Jack close. He goes to the window and looks out of it again to see that the saloon is surprisingly still open. Arthur’s stomach growls quietly and the decision is made.

The little one year old begins playing with his beard again as they head out of the room and descend the stairs. While in the back room, Arthur grabs his journal and pencil from his satchel that he left there the previous night, and quickly scrawls down a note for Abigail that he’ll be over at the saloon with Jack for breakfast.

Once the two are outside, Jack starts making a fuss about the morning chill. Arthur coos at him until he enters the saloon. He spots Gracie first, still up and playing a round of cards with the last few patrons. They all look up as Arthur enters, but Gracie is the only one that smiles. 

Arthur goes to tip his hat, only to realize that he left it back at the doctor’s office. He nods instead and goes to one of the unoccupied tables that appears to be the most clean. He lets little Jack bounce on his knee as one of the waitresses come over and takes his order. She talks to Jack with a delight in her voice as though she’s taking the baby’s order as well. She giggles as she makes her way back.

As Arthur watches the waitress leave, he thinks of Eliza and the way she’d move through a crowded saloon. The thought makes his chest go tight, and he promptly buries the memory away. Jack starts making bubbly noises again now that he’s in a warmer environment, and Arthur talks to him much in the same way the waitress did, nodding along to Jack’s incomprehensible jibber-jabber. It passes the time, and truth be told, it was rather entertaining having a made-up conversation. 

“Oh really?” Arthur asks as Jack starts giggling. 

“Well aren’t you two havin’ fun!” Arthur looks up to find Gracie pocketing a watch she’d just won. The men she was with are starting to get up and finally call it a night. 

“He’s a conversationalist.” Arthur says as he gestures to Jack, who now occupies himself by staring at the shiny fabric of Gracie’s dress.

Gracie chuckles, “I can hear! How’s Ms. Abigail doin’?”

“Fine I reckon. She’s asleep at the Doc’s office. Left her a note tellin’ her I’d be here with Jack.” Arthur say, he spots the waitress coming back with a pot of coffee and some mugs.

“A… note?” Arthur looks up at Gracie, who’s tilting her head and giving him a confused look. 

Arthur answers back with a slow, “Yes?”

Gracie opens her mouth about to say something when one of the regulars Gracie was playing cards with earlier suddenly says with a note of fear, “Nurse Roberts?”

Arthur turns and spots the woman balancing herself on a cane, with his hat in her fist and scowl that could melt the metal barrel of a gun. 

“Abigail?” He asks. Little Jack starts squealing at the sight of his mama, which doesn’t match the sudden tense atmosphere at all.

“Arthur, why in the nine layers of Hell have you brought my baby into a saloon at this ungodly hour?” Abigail looks ready to strangle him as she waddles her way towards the group. Arthur knows Abigail’s not angry at him bringing Jack into the saloon persay, but why he didn’t tell her in the first place. Which he obviously left in the note. So, her anger doesn’t make much sense to him.

But in that moment his brain seems to stutter, and instead of calmly explaining, he says instead, “What do you think I was doin’ woman, I came to eat,” his voice pitches at the end, incredulous, “Jack was already awake by the time I got outta bed so I brought him along.”

Abigail doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, “You should’ve woken me up!” She yells. Arthur opens his mouth to try and plactate her, but Abigail, being stubborn, continues on, “I had no idea what happened. Imagine what I felt when I woke up and my baby was missin’? I damn near tripped down the stairs trying to look for ya! I walked around the block and back tryin’ to find ya. I only did when I happened to look in the saloon window and say you having just a grand time sittin’ there.” She shoves the hat at Arthur’s chest, voice full of anger.

“I left you a  _ note _ .” Arthur glares back. He can hear Jack giggling on his knee, while Gracie tries to defuse the situation, but he can’t really understand what she’s saying, frustration already clouding up his mind.

“I  _ saw _ that,” Abigail says, her brows furrowing even more.

“Then why are you upset?” he asks, rather annoyed.

“I can’t  _ read _ , Arthur!” Abigail angrily admits. Suddenly, her eyes grow wide and her face flushes in shame the moment she realizes what she said. The saloon grows quiet around them save for the sound of Jack making tiny noises. 

It suddenly clicks then. That’s why Abigail rushed out of the cabin, thinking he left some notes behind. Because she didn’t know it was even for her in the first place. Because she couldn’t  _ read _ .

A sudden ball of guilt curdles in Arthur’s stomach.

“Oh…” he says rather lamely.

“ _ Oh. _ ” Abigail mocks, face still red. She turns to the sound of a cough and finds the waitress there with Arthur’s pot of coffee.

“Good mornin’ Nurse Roberts. Sir,” she waits for Arthur to look at her, “Your coffee.”

“Thanks Darleen.” Abigail says with a sigh before sitting down. Darleen slides an extra mug towards her before giving her a soft smile and leaving. Gracie gives Arthur a sympathetic look before attempting to disperse the men that had stayed, hoping for a show. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says suddenly, “I didn’t know—”

“ _ It’s okay _ , Arthur,” she interrupts, “Like you said earlier, we really didn’t get the chance to know each other.”

“Still coulda saved you a lot of trouble if I had known earlier.” he says, the guilt not going away.

“And I could have said something far,  _ far _ earlier.” Abigail tells him, stubbornly taking the blame. Something he wasn’t used to seeing.

Jack, meanwhile, burbles on and reaches his tiny arms out towards his mama. She smiles down at him and reaches out to him so his little hand grasps one of her fingers. Arthur pours her and himself a cup of coffee each, which she takes gratefully. He tries to smile at her without feeling bad, but she can see it clear as day. 

“Oh, stop giving me that face. For the last time, you didn’t know,” she shoots him a half-hearted glare. 

Arthur chuckles, “Alright, I concede,” he says, a hand up in surrender. She gives him a lopsided grin in return before taking a sip of her coffee. The two remain in comfortable silence —only being broken by their shared coos at Jack—  as the sun rises over the mountain and the day finally starts. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur hadn't really thought about Eliza and Isaac much before he butted in to Abigail’s life, but little Jack seems to easily bring back all those memories. 
> 
> It brings a warm, yet painful feeling. Like the thought of an old friend who committed a heinous act. No one really knows what to do with all the good memories of them. They feel forever tainted, and folks just accept that whether they like it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ya'll! In celebration of RDR2's one year anniversary, here's the latest chapter!
> 
> This chapter was more or less dedicated to develop Abigail and Arthur's relationship history, their current status in that regard, and to somewhat get Arthur's feelings rolling. Also, it's kinda fanservice-y. Basically, it's setting up some side relationship plot, while the ACTUAL plot will start rolling in the next chapter. Promise!
> 
> Once again, I'd like to thank my beta @Rabiesdealer, who did read thru this chapter, but I made a ton of changes after the fact, so this is probably a bit of a surprise for them.

By midmorning, they start heading back. Dr. Stevens waving them off with the promise to send off Arthur’s letter to the town that’s closest to camp. He still gives Arthur a skeptical look all the while. He ignores it in favor of steering Bo’ down the road. Abigail sits on the saddle proper this time, with little Jack in her arms and Arthur walking next to them. He doesn’t mind the two mile trip on foot, and Boadicea needs the break. 

 

Jack giggles for most of the ride back, tugging at Bo’s mane. Abigail occasionally tells him, “Gentle, Jack,  _ gentle! _ ” which makes Arthur chuckle. 

 

By the time they get back to the cabin, Abigail looks a little frayed already due to Jack’s bouncing energy and curious hands.

 

“You look like you could use a nap,” Arthur points out. Abigail shoots him a curious look with that crooked smile of hers.

 

“I’m fine. There’s still a few chores to finish before sundown,” Arthur starts helping her from Boadicea, lifting her with ease even with a squirming one year old. She grabs the cane that was tied to the saddle and starts hobbling up the stairs, Jack on her hip, “I’ll need to wash up the dishes, clean out the stove, and sweep the house,” she starts listing.

 

“You mean, I’ll be doing the dishes, cleanin’ out the stove, and sweepin’ the house,” Arthur interrupts, taking the weight of Jack off her hip, “I meant it when I said I was gonna help you.”

 

Abigail sighs, but her face still hold a softness to it that makes him think she won’t argue all that much, “If you insist. At least let me weed the garden today. I can sit down for that and keep an eye on Jack as he wanders the yard.”

 

Arthur smiles pleasantly and nods. Abigail unlocks the door, and the two head inside.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s about late afternoon when Arthur realizes that he really didn’t think this all the way through. He doesn’t regret offering help, and he won’t take that back even under Dutch’s scrutiny. But he only planned to visit Abigail for a day, not for nearly two months. 

 

He sweeps the dust and debri from cleaning the stove out onto the back steps. He hears little Jack squeal in delight and looks up to find Bo’ has trotted into the backyard at some point and is lipping at Jack’s feet as he wiggles on the quilt that was laid out for him. Abigail is beside them, watching Bo’ like a hawk.

 

Arthur knows his girl won’t do anything, reason why he left her to graze rather than hitch her to the front porch. Boadicea’s a good girl like that. 

 

He chuckles which prompts both Abigail and Bo’ to look up at him. The sight makes him laugh outright. He sees Abigail flush when she looks back at the horse before throwing him a scowl. He clicks his tongue and Bo’ trots up to him, rubbing her nose against his palm, looking for a treat. 

 

“Now you let them be, Bo’,” he chides. He gets a huff from the horse, as though giving him sass before she wanders towards the large maple and lays in the shade. He shakes his head with and amused sigh. 

 

“You spoil her rotten,” he hears Abigail complain. It sounded a lot like what Marston has been telling him for years. 

 

“Leave Bo’ be, she’s a good horse,” he practically coos to get at Abigail’s nerves. She scoffs but the smile on her face tells him she’s just as amused as he is by the whole exchange. He starts sweeping down the steps when he catches her staring at him, eyeing him critically. He flushes, not sure how to take the attention. It’s not so much admiring as it is scrutinizing, but still, he never got used to people looking at him like that.

 

After a few moments he asks,” What?”

 

Her blue eyes flick to his face and they manage to make him fidget with how intense the stare is. Like the eyes of a disapproving mother despite the fact that Abigail’s expression is soft. After a moment she says, “You’re a mess, Arthur Morgan,” as though she’s chastising him. 

 

He blinks, “Well… yeah. Been cleanin’ the stove.” He had to get at the chunks of ash that built up around the entrance of the chimney. His fingers and arms were covered in soot, and his shirt was spotted much the same way. On top of that, he’s pretty sure he don’t smell all that great either. 

 

Abigail laughs, “I know, just pointin’ it out. I ain’t much better,” she lifts her dirt covered hands to show him, “There’s a big stream down that way where you can wash up,” she points towards the forest, “And I think I still have some of John’s old clothes he’d leave behind occasionally. We might be able to at least get you into a shirt,” she laughs again.

 

Yeah, Martson was always a bit of a bean pole. Never could build up bulk like Arthur could, no matter how much they fed him. Arthur groans at the thought of squeezing himself into any of John’s clothes, “I’ll probably tear them to shreds,” he says off handedly. 

 

“Good, serves him right for leavin’ them here,” she says as she crosses her arms, a smug smile graces her face.

 

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head before sweeping the last bit of ash and dust off the steps. 

 

* * *

 

Washing in the little stream wasn’t so bad despite the cold nip of it. In fact it felt pretty good being clean. But Arthur can’t help staring at the clothes Abigail shoved at him before he left. 

 

He knows the clothes won’t fit him. He even thinks that they might tear if he even tried. But the other options of wearing his filthy clothes —which Abigail took so she could wash them later— or strutting around as bare as the day he was born ain’t sitting well with him either. 

 

After a few moments of debating with himself, it’s the whinny of an impatient Bo’ who followed him down that makes him decide. 

 

“Alright, alright,” he grunts. Boadicea stamps her hoof a few times, “You’re just as bad as Abigail, I swear.” Bo’ huffs as Arthur squeezes into John’s old clothes. The shoulders are okay, but the pinch at his waist and thighs is enough to drive him mad. It sits on the edge of being too uncomfortable but manageable. He doesn’t even bother slipping on his suspenders, letting them dangle at his sides, because the pants are just keeping themselves up. 

 

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur grumbles to himself as he trudges up the small hill. Bo’ is at his tail, nudging him for a treat, “Abigail was right, maybe I do spoil you too much…”

 

Once he’s up the hill he spots Abigail sitting on the back steps. Jack is in her arms and looks to be asleep. When she catches sight of him, he sees her blue eyes widen and bites her bottom lip. There’s a sound like someone blowing their nose. The sound is coming from Abigail.

 

“Don’t you start,” Arthur growls.

 

That does it, Abigail bursts out laughing. It’s loud enough to startle Jack from his sleep, but to his credit, he doesn’t make a peep. 

 

“I— I’m sorry but—,” A fit of giggles explode out of her like a bursting dam, “You— The pants look like— They look like they’re ‘bout to rip off ya if you so much as bend your knees!”

 

Arthur feels himself flush real hard at that, “I told you so,” he says because he needs to save his dignity somehow. Bo’ keeps nudging into him and Arthur is close to snapping at her. 

 

“Oh, come here you dumb animal,” Abigail suddenly says, her voice still full of pure delight and on the edge of another laughing fit. Bo’ suddenly perks up and trots over to where Abigail’s hand extends. Arthur has enough time to catch the sight of an oatcake in her palm. As Bo’ nibbles, Abigail looks up, “Told ya. Spoiled her too much,” she flicks her gaze up and down Arthur’s form, making him fidget and clear his throat, “I can try and mend the pants a bit. John left more than one pair,” She says with a soft smile. 

 

Arthur places his hands on his hips and looks down, bashful, “That would be very kind of you, Ms. Roberts, but uhh… that'd be a lot of sewin'.”

 

He hears Abigail chuckle, “Then I guess you'll just have to walk around with just a shirt. Come here real quick and take Jack. I need to wash up my arms and face.”

 

Arthur walks towards her with a frown and a blush on his face, trying not to picture himself in nothing but Marston's too tight shirt, “You sure you’ll be alright?” He asks as he takes Jack who is already starting to drift back into sleep. 

 

Abigail stands, using her cane for support, “I’ll be fine. It’s just a quick wash,” she starts waddling down the hill, being careful of her splint.

 

Arthur watches her until he can’t see her anymore, all the while fidgeting. He’s usually not this anxious, but he was always protective of who he considered family. Boadicea huffs before slowly chasing after Abigail, no doubt looking for more treats. At least his horse can offer Abigail something sturdy to lean on if anything happens. 

 

He shifts uncomfortably for a few minutes while little Jack is none the wiser, sleeping soundly once more. He contemplates about actually taking the pants off as Abigail suggested, but also in a way that doesn't disturb Jack. 

 

Eventually he decides to just stand there awkwardly as the more he thinks about the idea the more embarrassed he gets. He looks down at Jack, clicking his tongue at how the boy's sound asleep in nothing but a cloth diaper.

 

"Enjoy it while you can kid. Soon you're mama ain't gonna let you run around wearin' just that," Arthur says quietly, feeling a little silly over being jealous of a baby. 

 

The thought brings him back to Isaac, uninhibitedly. 

 

A weight descends on his heart as he remembers the way Eliza would throw up her arms in frustration at finding Isaac’s clothes strewn about the yard like the boy had been picked up by a windstorm. Arthur would chuckle at the toddler running away from his momma, naked as the day he was born, whining about not wanting to wear itchy cotton. Eliza would glare at Arthur whenever she caught him laughing with those deep dark eyes of hers, and he would surrender and help her catch their son and wrestle him into some clothes. 

 

Arthur hadn't really thought about Eliza and Isaac much before he butted in to Abigail’s life, but little Jack seems to easily bring back all those memories. 

 

It brings a warm, yet painful feeling. Like the thought of an old friend who committed a heinous act. No one really knows what to do with all the good memories of them. They feel forever tainted, and folks just accept that whether they like it or not. 

 

He’s not sure what hurts most. Should he feel happy thinking of those small moments he had with his son, or should he feel undeserving to have them and therefore tarnish them forever? Perhaps the uncertainty of it all is truly the worst part. 

 

Jack suddenly gurgles in his sleep, and it, thankfully, snaps Arthur out of his melocolny thoughts. He glances down as some spittle runs down Jack’s pudgy cheeks.

 

“You’re a mess, ain’t ya kid?” he jokes with a fond smile as he wipes at Jack’s mouth gently. 

 

"What was that?" Arthur looks up and spots Abigail coming over the hill with Bo' hot on her tail. 

 

He feels himself flush, "Nothin'," he mumbles before he spots the big white sheet bundled against Abigail's right arm, "What ya got there?"

 

Abigail smiles, "It's a sheet I left out by accident. Usually have the line down hill a bit by the stream, but we'll probably have to move it closer ‘til I can stand on my own again," she hobbles over, "Either way, you can probably just tie this to your waist ‘til we get you a suitable pair of pants." Abigail chuckles. 

 

Arthur huffs, not at all amused by the idea, but nonetheless he hands over Jack once Abigail's taken a seat onto the porch. He stands awkwardly for a moment before heading around the corner of the cabin. He hears Abigail snort, but he gets to work wrapping the sheet around his waist and discarding John’s pants. When he comes back around and goes to hand back the trousers, now in a too tight shirt and billowing sheet tied at his hips, he’s met with Abigail’s red face and glossy eyes as she once again holds in a fit of laughter.

 

“Oh hush!” he hisses. 

 

Abigail cries out in a storm of giggles, “I’m sorry it’s just—- You look so uncomfortable,” she sets Jack aside, who again, wiggles in discomfort but quickly stills, and gets up with the help of her cane. She waddles over to him as he stands there, practically pouting, though he’d never admit to it.

 

“Come here, you silly man,” she says, laughter punctuated between words. She balances the cane onto the crook of her elbow and goes to unbutton the shirt halfway to relieve some of the tightness around Arthur’s chest, “Ain’t like I haven’t seen you naked before,” she says casually before unwrapping the sheet a bit, “Don’t know why you’re actin’ shy now.” 

 

Arthur huffs. Logically, Abigail’s right they’ve seen each other far less clothed than this, but those times were different. Those times Arthur was mourning the loss of Mary and their ill-gotten love. Those times Abigail wasn’t infatuated with John yet, but simply harboured a great affection for him, like that of a child. They may have shared a few passionate nights to forget about all the bad feelings they wished they could bury, but whatever they had didn’t last long. 

 

Arthur’s not sure why, but the memories leave him bitter in a way he can’t quite name. So he continues to pout and is left standing there, tense and blushing like a buffoon, letting the woman do as she pleases. Abigail wraps the sheet more securely before tucking it into itself.

 

As she brushes down his shirt, she says, “We’ll try to get your clothes washed in a day or two so y’all don’t have to walk around like this.” Abigail giggles as she takes a step back and finally notices the deep red blush spreading from Arthur’s face down to his chest, “Come now, Mr. Morgan. Are we bein’ bashful?” she gives him that crooked smile and he just pouts even more.

 

He hears her giggling here and there for the rest of the day whenever she catches a glimpse of him. Even during dinner, in which Arthur insists he cook this time, Abigail occasionally snorts whenever Arthur has to lift up the sheet like a dress to move around. His only real comfort in all this is knowing that Abigail’s teasing is light hearted. That it’s his flustering over the whole situation, making it a bigger deal than it truly is, that gets an amused smile on her face. Not the fact that he’s practically wearing a dress. God knows she’s met all kinds of people in her old working life. She’s not one to judge in that regard. Even still, he finds his nerves a little frayed as she comments on his flustered face.

 

However, the amusement runs dry when night comes and they have to go to bed. The question of where Arthur’s going to sleep went unasked, but both Arthur and Abigail know that he can’t sleep on the old  settee . It’s too small for Arthur’s bulk. However, when Abigail suggests that he sleeps in the bed, he refuses profusely. 

 

“Absolutely not. I can sleep on the floor.”

 

“And risk throwin’ out your back? I don’t think so. It’s the least I can do, Arthur,” Abigail says, frowning as she places Jack into his crib. 

 

“Throw out my— I ain’t that old, woman,” Arthur scowls, “I’m fine with just a bedroll, slept in worse conditions. Plus, where you gonna sleep?”

 

Abigail sighs, “I was gonna sleep in the bed too,” when she looks up and sees Arthur’s incredulous face she rolls her eyes and snorts, “The bed’s big enough for the both of us, ain’t that big of a deal.”

 

“That may be true, but it’s a big deal to me.” Arthur says, “Plus, I know how you sleep. Kick worse than a horse.”

 

Abigail, scoffs, but perhaps sensing his discomfort with the idea, doesn’t pester him about it any further, “Alright, but at least lets get you more than a bedroll. And don’t you start about how a rolled up blanket is enough for you! Let me at least do this,” she chides him when he looks like he’s about to protest. 

 

Arthur huffs with a fond shake of his head as he watches Abigail wobble over to her beat-up wardrobe and shuffle through a disarray of clothes. Arthur follows her after a few minutes of watching her struggle. Together they pull out a few winter blankets, a spare bedroll John left behind, and an extra pillow. Abigail sits on the bed due to Arthur’s insistence that he can set up a reasonable nest on his own. 

 

The next few minutes are of Abigail and him bickering about the arrangement of blankets and sheets on the floor, which Arthur finds rather amusing to say the least. They eventually agree on having his nest between Jack’s crib and Abigail’s bed, despite her prestering about how she would trip over him in the middle of the night when Jack would cry.

 

“I’ll be the one getting up if he starts fussin’,” Arthur responds after her complaint, “If he needs feedin’, I’ll wake ya.” 

 

Abigail makes a face like she ate something sour. He can tell she doesn’t like the idea, but doesn’t say anything as she finally lies down on the bed, perhaps because she’s too exhausted to argue with him anymore. Arthur, feeling more relieved than he has all day, also finally lies down for a good night’s sleep.

 

“Good night, Miss Roberts,” he says. He hears her scoff and sees Abigail wave her hand in the air dismissively. It makes him chuckle.

 

“Good night, you silly man,” she replies rather fondly. 

 

It doesn’t take long for Abigail to fall asleep, Arthur notes, as he hears her breathing steady. The night’s typical noises keep him up just a little bit longer, keeping his thoughts wandering back to how comfortable he is. Not the kind of comfort that comes from the pile of blankets beneath him, but from the familiarity of his surroundings.

 

Despite it only having been two days, he knows this feeling well. It’s a sense of belonging, of knowing that you’re with people you’re close with. People you care about in a way that can only be described as  _ domestic _ . A family.

 

But it’s not  _ his _ family. Not in the way he craves, wants.

 

Not in the way he  _ had _ .

 

The thought leaves him hollow and exhausts, but more importantly, angry. Angry at Marston for condemning Abigail and their child to the bitter loneliness and the terrifying uncertainty of whether they’ll ever see him again. He’s angry at himself for not realizing how much he’s  _ missed  _ this until it’s too late to stop it, and the craving is gnawing at his heart like a parasite. He tries to shove his palms into the sockets of his eyes to rid him of the memories, but he  _ can’t _ . They’re already here. Tainted and warm just as they had been before with Jack. Just as they’ve always been.

 

He can see it now, in his mind’s eye. Eliza to his right, fast asleep and snoring softly. Isaac in his tiny bed to Arthur’s left, dreaming of things Arthur will never know about. The noises of the night pulling them deeper into sleep, closer to the next morning when Arthur has to leave. Closer to the moment he turns his back on them and never sees their smiling faces again, because the next time Arthur returns, all he’ll have are wooden crosses in the yard.

 

He hears a shuffle and snaps his gaze towards Abigail. Her arm falls from the bed in a way Arthur knows will end up numbing it by morning, but there’s a terrible urge in him to grasp her fingers. To feel the warm pulse in her wrist. To let him now that she’s alive and not rotting in the ground. To relieve this awful need to be close to  _ someone _ .

 

Instead Arthur turns around and closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep. 


End file.
